


Solace

by Catsnake



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsnake/pseuds/Catsnake
Summary: Featuring: shameless cave sex





	

The wind screamed at the mouth of the cave. The puddle of warm torchlight at the entrance of the cave revealed nothing visible in the darkness outside but endless fat flakes of snow. Anything could be standing there, mere feet from the entrance, looking in, and they'd never know, thought Erandur. The thought unsettled him less than it would have in his days as a lone traveler, when he'd fled his past as a cultist of the Daedric prince of nightmares and had wandered Skyrim alone as a healer, desperate in his search for redemption. He'd given himself entirely to Mara, god of love and mercy.

Much of his being less wary had to do with the Nord tending the fire further in the cave. The Nord man sat, peeling the gloves from his hands to thaw his fingers at fire's edge, his long, blonde hair damp as its coat of frost melted. His face was hard lines, his eyes were lethal. It was his deadliness alone that had caused them to meet. In the Windpeak Inn of Dawnstar, when the Nord had blown in one night as a weary traveler, Erandur had recognized him nearly immediately as the type of person who could help with his task.

Returning to the temple to unseal it and carrying out his mission within had been a task he'd had to steel himself for days for, issuing prayers to Mara and meditating as often as he could--restful sleep was not an option, after all, until his mournful task had been complete.

Erandur walked to the back of the cave where the Nord was laying out the bedrolls. He had traveled with the man for around two weeks, by his estimate, and he did not know his name. This didn't bother him. Out here, in the frozen pine forests of The Pale, there was no real need for names. He knew the Nord was deadly with his ebony sword and fire spells against the wolves and ice wraiths and anything else they might encounter, and he trusted the man not to bury a dagger in his back as he slept, and those were the pieces of knowledge that mattered.

After the Nord had helped him cleanse the temple, he had offered his companionship to the man. After all, he had already been prepared to spend the rest of his days within the dark stone walls of the place that had once been his home and was now silent and devoid of life--a massive, lonely reminder that his former friends, once like family, were dead, and by his hand. And nothing, Erandur had figured, could really be worse than that. To his surprise, the Nord had accepted.

The cold never really abated this far north, but this was an especially, dangerously chill night. The man placed the bedrolls together; to avoid freezing, they would sleep side by side, armed with layers of furs on top to fight the bitter cold. 

The fire hissed and spat, and the wind outside the cave screamed: some of its tones were shrill; other, lower ones underlied them. The end result was a noise in which Erandur could almost hear voices of his own imagining--low gibberish, just quiet enough to be mostly obscured by the wind. Whispering. Sighing.

"Forgive me...Vaermina," Veren had whispered, as Erandur had turned, back in the temple, and saw the Nord and his former friend Veren, in what had seemed, for one confusing moment, to be a close embrace, before Veren slid backward, his chest unsheathing the Nord's sword, until he gently collapsed on the floor.

And before Erandur could even process this, Thorek was upon him, frenzied. Thorek, who had also been his friend. The three of them had been, in all but blood relation, brothers. "Taste the benevolence of Mara," Erandur had bitterly exclaimed as he'd crushed his skull with his mace, his throat dry.

And then Vaermina's artifact had been before them to destroy, and he'd--blessedly--had no time to think much about anything.

These days of travel with the Nord helped to distract him. But in his quiet moments...

He stalked over to the bedrolls, removing his hood and exposing his long, dark hair, and lay down. Before long, the Nord had joined him. Thoughts of the dim stone temple still plagued Erandur. He tried to meditate on Mara, but found--to his unease--that he could not focus even on prayer. He instead tried to ground himself in the present moment. Eyes closed, he focused on the sound of the wind outside, on the crackling of dying embers. He could hear faintly a dripping from nearby cave walls, where the fire had thawed the frost that had clung to them. He could smell the warm, heady scent of the firewood, and the skin of the man who lay beside him. 

Erandur was suddenly aware of how close to him the Nord was. He opened his eyes, watched the slow rise and fall of the man's broad chest. The Nord was a handsome man--Erandur had noticed this from the start. He flushed slightly, tried to stop and redirect the course of his thoughts. It was too late for his body, though; he could feel the blood rushing to his groin, could feel himself getting hard. Now he'd just have to lie uncomfortably for a while, he thought--and then his discomfort grew exponentially when the Nord opened his eyes, saw Erandur staring at his torso, saw the subtle but telltale tent in the furs above Erandur's legs. Erandur made a small sound, moved to turn away, embarassed--the Nord man caught his arm. He had a small amused smile.

The Nord pulled off his shirt, and then, watching Erandur's face, slid his own trousers off. The man's body didn't disappoint: it was a was a chiseled sculpture, a testament to the man's lifestyle, from the long, raised scars that ranged over his abdominal muscles, to the quiet but noticeable bulges of his arms. Staring at the other man's cock, Erandur felt himself grow hard as tempered steel. The Nord began working himself with one hand, hand sliding over Erandur's robes with the other, undoing clasps, pulling away at the fabric, exposing his dark, smooth skin.

And then Erandur's body was completely exposed to the man, and Nord moved like one of the deadly cats of Skyrim's wilderness over him, lowering his head to Erandur's cock, his blonde hair falling over his face as he tongued the lip of the penis's head and then took his whole cock into his mouth. Erandur gasped and jolted upright, placing his hand on the Nord's head, running it through the blonde hair he'd idly imagined feeling. And then the man rose on his knees, and Erandur got a glimpse of his erection before he was turning him over, onto his hands and knees. For a moment Erandur feared the dry friction tearing into him painfully, and as he finally decided to open his mouth, he felt the other's cock slide warmly and wetly into him, forcing a small, involuntary sound out instead. The other was also a mage, he remembered. And from the looks of things, he was experienced in this regard, too.

And then the Nord was thrusting into him, picking up speed, and Erandur lost himself to the feeling of the other man entering and deeply filling him, again and again, the man's cock pressuring the ecstatic spot of his prostate, sending hot waves through his body and trembling cock. The Nord was thrusting quickly now, hungrily, making a short, low groan with each thrust that made Erandur quiver, and then the man was climaxing, his thrusts slower, spasmic, his cock emptying into Erandur's body. With a sigh, he slowly pulled out, encouraging the last of his seed into Erandur's entrance with his hand. And then he flipped the elf again, and he was back at Erandur's cock again, working him hungrily now, his hands exploring Erandur's slender body, warmth spreading onto the other's skin from his palms. Erandur bucked and moaned with the rising and falling of the Nord's head, unable to restrain himself. He felt himself reach the inevitable moment of the brink and slide right over it; he held the Nord's blue gaze as he came as hard as he ever had in his life, spilling his seed into the man's mouth, who drank it all.

They settled back into the darkness. The silver ring that the Nord sometimes wore had not gone unnoticed by Erandur, but he didn't care. Of all of his sins, he figured, what more did this really add? Making love had to be the least of them. And he knew the Nord well enough by this point to have an idea of how he thought: out here, traveling and fighting in the wilds, was a different life than his spouse had in his safe house in Whiterun. Erandur knew the Nord felt no guilt, and he suspected from a few, brief conversations, that the man had idea of what his spouse and housecarl got to in his absence, anyway--which the man didn't seem to fault them for, either. This was the way of things, he seemed to think.

The Nord was an untroubled man despite his dangerous life, Erandur realized, as he lay in the arms of the man, who in turn lay on his back. In the afterglow of sex and the warmth of the Nord's body, Erandur felt untroubled himself.

He couldn't change his past. He might be killed tomorrow.

Sex couldn't fix everything.

But for the moment, his mind was still. He closed his eyes. Solace. He fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I didn't set out to write a sex scene, I really didn't.
> 
> My hand slipped.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
